


1940

by 222Ravens



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: 1940, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Mary's son, Motherhood, Train Stations, WWII, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 14:59:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/222Ravens/pseuds/222Ravens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have something for you.” She says, pressing it into his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1940

**Author's Note:**

> Going off the spoilers we've seen, about Mary's son's name and her future suitor, and the fact that George Crawley will be 18/19 when World War II starts (darn you, Fellowes!), and therefore will be heading off to war.
> 
> Comments/critiques, as always, will be received with great jubilation.

_1940_

 

They are about to leave. It’s crowded, the train station full of people, and they have largely said their goodbyes already.

 

Mary kisses her husband gently on the cheek, then extricates herself from his arms. Momentary weakness, she supposes. Fully understandable. It’s war, after all, come once again. None of this is _fair_. But then, that is her life in a phrase, at times.

 

She looks down at her purse, steels herself, then makes a decision.

 

“Anthony dear, could you wait here for a moment? There’s something I’ve forgotten to give him. Keep an eye on little Violet.” She says, ruffling her daughter’s hair.

 

“Certainly, Mary.” He says, and his eyes crinkle with understanding.

 

“I’m eleven, mother. Hardly little.” Violet protests, gravely, which helps Mary to smile. It’s distractedly, though, and she turns away quickly.

 

Then, she makes her way out of the waiting room and onto the platform. The smoke of the train is clouding the air. It’s just her luck. He hasn’t gotten on the train yet.

 

“George.”

 

He turns to her, and her breaths catches, at the strong line of his silhouette, the look in his pale blue eyes. 

 

For a moment she’s back to another time in her life, more than twenty years past, and that long settled ache in her chest squeezes. 

 

Then she swallows, and smiles tightly. Someone shouts in the distance, and the train engine is beginning to warm up properly.

 

Her son smiles back. “Hello, mother.”

 

She looks down.

 

Part of her wants to yell at him, scream to run, not to do this. Because she knows what happens in war, knows what it does to men. She doesn’t know if she could stand it, losing him too. For everything else she has gained since he was born. And she loves Anthony, truly she does, and little Violet, but... 

 

She fears having to be strong through a loss as terrible once more. Fears it might shatter her, when everything else _hasn’t._

 

She think it’s George’s turn to be Perseus, now, and wonders if Danae was ever as frightened. Whether she wanted to weep, when he left to fight Gorgons and sea monsters, to protect her. She’s never asked for that, of course. Being protected. And she wonders if it mightn’t be easier to turn to stone, because it is so very difficult to meet his eyes at this moment.

 

Her hands are steady, though, as they reach into the bag. Her eyes are dry as she pulls out the little toy dog, and looks up at him properly.

 

“I have something for you.” She says, pressing it into his hands.

 

He looks at her, startled, and he’s quite right to be. George is a man, now, a grown man, and he has no need for silly little toys. It’s enough that she almost pulls it back, but something stops her.

 

“It was mine, once, forever ago. And…” She swallows again. “I never told you this, but when your father went off to war, I met him here, at the train station. To see him off. It was before we married, of course, but I think I was in love with him all the same.” 

 

There’s a lump in her throat still. It’s stuck halfway down, and she can’t quite bring herself to shake it, so she turns her head away.

 

“And you gave it to him for luck?” George prompts, his voice gentle.

 

She looks back at him, startled. “Yes. And… I know it’s a little...”

 

His hands pulls it close to chest for a moment. Her son’s eyes close, breathing in deep, before he tucks it carefully into the pocket of his coat. “I’ll look after it, mother.”

 

“Please.”

 

“Try not to be too much of a hero, if you can.” She half-jests. That was his advice to himself, back then, wasn’t it? Something of the kind.

 

He grins at her, crookedly. “Are you afraid of that? Don’t worry, mother… I’ll do my best to come home safe. And if…” The grin slides off his face.

 

“Don’t even say it.” She says abruptly. “You will.”

 

“Will you look after Violet?” He finally asks, after a moment of brittle silence. “I know she’ll worry about me.”

 

“Of course. And… I know she will. We all will.” Mary admits, and is surprised as he that she does.

 

There’s isn’t anything else they can say, after that, but she kisses his cheek, and whispers “ _Such_ good luck.”

 

Because he’s a grown man, now, and the heir, of course, that too. 

 

So she steps back, lets him go off to war with a wave.

 

And knows that no matter what happens, he’ll never be anything but _their_ little boy.


End file.
